REVIEW: Whitefella Yella Tree – La Boite Theatre

Presented by: La Boite Theatre in association with Griffin Theatre Company

Written by: Dylan Van Den Berg

Co-directed by: Declan Greene and Amy Sole

Cast: Joseph Althouse and Danny Howard

Warnings: Recommended for audiences aged 15+. Contains loud noise, blinding lights, simulated sex scenes, weapons, and descriptions or representations of colonial violence.

Photography: Prudence Upton

“You could pass for a white fella… except for your voice and your face and your hair and your skin.”

Beneath the branches of a lemon tree, two teenage boys meet. It is more than 200 years ago, on Aboriginal Country, and the world they know is on the brink of being declared something new. In another life, they might simply have been two boys falling in love under the moonlight. But history, as we know, had other plans.

Written by Palawa playwright Dylan Van Den Berg, Whitefella Yella Tree is an unflinching two-hander co-directed by Declan Greene and Amy Sole. Together they craft a story that feels both ancient and immediate; a tale of young love, Country, and survival that glows with humour, pain, and profound beauty.

The set, designed by Mason Browne, is minimal and beautifully evocative, with a wooden stage in the round and above it all, the hanging branches of the lemon tree looms like its own character: a shelter, witness, and silent companion, symbolising everything that grows, ripens, and falls.

It is here that Ty (Joseph Althouse, Pertame and Tiwi) and Neddy (Danny Howard, Barrd, Yamatji, Noongar, Bunuba, and Ngadju) are tasked with exchanging messages between their communities: River Mob and Mountain Mob. What begins as duty slowly becomes friendship, then something deeper and far more dangerous in the eyes of the world to come.

Althouse and Howard play Ty and Neddy with truth and youthful spirit. They first appear as 15-year-olds, full of curiosity, teasing, and playful energy. It’s immediately believable: the cheeky banter, the awkward bravado, the shy laughter, the flashes of vulnerability.

Neddy is the brawny, impulsive one: tough on the outside, vulnerable on the inside. He is quick to laugh, quick to anger, and desperate to protect. Ty is thoughtful, gentle, and deeply connected to the stories of his people. Together, their delivery of the play’s humour gives the story levity. Both their performances feel timeless, like two halves of a whole. Danny’s storytelling is disjointed and brash in a way that feels entirely true to his character Neddy, while Joseph draws us in with quiet wisdom and intimacy of Ty that holds the audience in stillness.

Their chemistry is like witnessing something private and precious; a connection free of shame or judgement, simply two boys discovering themselves and each other. It’s rare and beautiful to see queer love presented with such purity, unburdened by the external or internal lens of guilt or fear. At first...

But what happens when the messy, awkward parts of first love collide with the violence of invasion? Their tender love unfolds in a world that feels as if it might hold them safe, but as the whitefellas colony creeps closer, it threatens not just their Country but their right to love.

As moons pass, their meetings beneath the lemon tree chart the changing seasons of both their relationship and their world. What begins with curiosity about the whitefellas (e.g. their sheep described as “clouds with legs”) soon turns to fear as invasion looms closer, bring with them their guns, dogs, and disease.

Steve Toulmin’s sound design gives chilling life to the unseen colonists. The crackle of fire, the barking of dogs, and the escalating roar of destruction become an assault on my hearing, a necessary one. It is loud, violent, and overwhelming. The horror is never shown on stage, but it is felt deeply through these elements and had my heart pounding with stress.

Kelsey Lee and Katie Sfetkidis’ lighting design is extraordinary, using subtle shifts of colour and brightness to chart time passing. I found myself holding my breath through the blackouts, where sound takes over and lemons fall from above like tears from the sky, punctuating each silence with a visceral jolt!

Under the direction of Greene and Sole, the piece feels intimate and intuitive. The staging often asks us to fill in the blanks. A moment of the boys lying side by side is simply shown by them standing together against the set. The production trusts its audience to imagine, to listen, and to feel. Because this is not just theatre about history; it is theatre that embodies history, inviting us to feel its weight through movement, sound, and storytelling.

As the years pass, both boys grow older. Their voices drop. Their innocence fades. The world around them hardens. Neddy, desperate to find his sister who was taken, begins to engage with the colonists, taking on their clothes, their drink, their faith, and their shame. Ty remains with his Mob, guided by his Elders and struggling to hold their stories in a mind too full of grief as their numbers dwindle.

The gulf between them becomes immense. Neddy’s new beliefs tell him that a man cannot love another man. His shame and confusion collide with the memory of who he was before. When Neddy whispers, “We’ve got to stay safe,” and Ty shouts back, “Where’s safe?!” those words hang heavy in the air. It’s not just their question; it’s the question for every generation of First Nations since that were torn apart by forces beyond their control.

Van Den Berg’s writing captures the poetry of Country and the brutality of colonisation without ever losing sight of humanity. The play reminds us that queer love has always existed on this Land and that it continues to thrive in defiance of history’s attempts to erase it. The arrival of the First Fleet marked the end of the isolation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and began a period of dispossession, violence, and disease that decimated communities. And yet, this play is not a story about loss alone, but about what could not be destroyed: love, laughter, connection, and resilience.

First staged in 2022 on a small Sydney stage, I’m so grateful this work has found its way to Brisbane. Whitefella Yella Tree is a piece of immense heart and importance. It lingers like the taste of lemon on your tongue, sharp, bright, and unforgettable. I left La Boite Theatre tear-streaked but full of gratitude, for storytellers like Dylan Van Den Berg, for artists like Joseph Althouse and Danny Howard, and for the privilege of witnessing a love story so beautifully told on Country.

It’s history, heartbreak, and hope intertwined, a reminder that even in the darkest chapters, love still endures.